


nothing good happens after 2am

by wistfulwatcher



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Drunk Dialing, F/F, Light Angst, Phone Sex, and dragging kara into it, cat grant making poor life choices, post-siobhan hire, unestablished relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 13:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6197041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wistfulwatcher/pseuds/wistfulwatcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“<i>Kiera</i>,” Cat sighs, exhausted and put-out as if Kara was the one that had called her. “Of <i>course</i> you answer.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	nothing good happens after 2am

**Author's Note:**

> for supercat march madness on tumblr and from an anon prompt for phone or cyber sex

Kara nearly crushes her phone when she tries to answer it, half-asleep and disoriented from whatever dream she’d just been pulled from.

She nearly crushes it again when she sees who’s calling.

Cat hasn’t spoken to her outside of the office since Adam left, and she’s _never_ called her at 2:30 in the morning before. Not even on her most stressful of days (and Kara has seen plenty of those by now).

Heart hammering in her chest she slides her thumb to answer the call, her _Ms. Grant?_ coming out shaky with nerves.

“ _Kiera_ ,” Cat sighs, exhausted and put-out as if Kara was the one that had called her. “Of _course_ you answer _._ ”

Kara pushes her hair back from her face, sitting up in the bed as she tries to make sense of Cat’s response. For a moment, she wonders if she’s still dreaming, or if she _had_ actually been the one to call Cat, somehow. “Excuse me?” 

“I said ‘of _course_ you answer,’” she repeats, and Kara can hear the clinking of ice in a glass, liquid sloshing. _Oh. Oh, no._ “Of course you answer, of course you take my call at two in the morning, of course you sound concerned _._ ”

Kara has no idea how to respond to Cat, how to understand why she seems so mad about Kara doing what she’d apparently wanted by calling her in the first place.

“Of _course_ ,” Kara can hear her take a drink before she continues. “Because you’ve been nothing but yourself lately, all wide-eyed innocence and concern and empathy. Intuitive and _charming,”_ she slurs the end a little. 

“Ms. Grant? Do you need me to come pick you up?” She’s fully awake now and out of any other kind of explanation for Cat calling her like this. “Are you alright?”

“I’m _fine_ , Kara,” she snaps. “ _Kiera_.” The catch is too late, they both hear it, but Cat continues on. “I’m home. I’m home, and instead of finishing the work I should be doing, I’ve been sitting here for the past few hours, _thinking_ about my assistant.” She laughs bitterly. 

“I’m sorry,” Kara says, still at a loss.

“Stop apologizing. I’ve been _awful_ to you, and you’re apologizing,” Cat snaps, and it sounds frighteningly close to an apology of Cat’s own. “I’ve chosen Siobhan over you every day for weeks, and you’ve still been my,” _secret weapon, guardian angel. Friend_ ,a small part of Kara thinks she might say. “…Assistant. Helpful as always.”

Kara swallows slowly, moves to adjust glasses that aren’t there. “That is my job,” she tests, unsure what kind of response Cat wants. What response she needs so badly, to call Kara like this.

“Hmmm,” Cat just murmurs, and without seeing her, Kara can’t tell what the sound means. “How professional.”

Because Cat can’t see her either, because her apartment is dark, because it is 2:30 in the morning and Kara is feeling _brave_ , she says, “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

Cat’s silent. Well, mostly. Kara can hear the glass sloshing again, can picture Cat sitting in the study she’d gotten a tiny glance of once, or maybe one of the easy chairs in her living room. Cat moves, and Kara can hear squeaking, like bedsprings.

She flushes red, imagining Cat sitting on the edge of a bed, tries not to picture what Cat’s bedroom looks like. (Probably warm, all dark, rich colors and heavy fabrics and soft sheets. She blushes deeper.)

“What I _wanted_ ,” she says, voice low, “was an assistant who stays out of my personal life. An assistant who knows her place and doesn’t _push_ and doesn’t offer me things that I know I can never have. Who doesn’t insert herself into my life until I can’t get her out.”

Kara thinks she means Adam at first, but the way her throat catches at the end makes her wonder if that’s really all she’s implying.

“Ms. Grant,” Kara starts, guilt and regret washing over her _again_ when she thinks of how she ruined things—for Cat and Adam, for Cat, for Cat and _her—_ by meddling. 

“I don’t know what I want, Kara,” she interrupts Kara with a whisper, her voice heavy with exhaustion. This time she doesn’t correct her use of Kara’s name, just lets it hang there.

The bed squeaks a little again, longer, like there is weight settling across it, and Kara tries to block it out. Tries not to picture Cat laying down on her bed, the skirt she’d been wearing that day—deep blue and tight, a slit up the back—rising up her thighs. But then Kara hears the phone shift and Cat sigh a little, and a clunk like Cat’s put her drink down on a nightstand.

And she can’t stop picturing it.

“It was easier when you were being…whoever it was you were those first few days after.” Kara thinks about Black Mercy, thinks about what Hank told her about his stint at CatCo. Thinks about what maybe he _hasn’t_ told her. “Cold and aloof and uncaring.” Cat laughs, but it is hollow again. “A month ago I would have been proud.”

“About that day,” Kara starts, because she can’t listen to this. Listen to how she’d been cold to Cat, when it is the last thing she’s ever felt toward her.

“If that’s who you are, you should stop pretending again. I figured you out once.” Kara sucks in a breath, suddenly unsure if they’re still talking about her attitude. “It would be easier, if that’s who you were. If you were the cold woman that broke my son’s heart. That manipulated us both to get ahead.”

“I promise you, I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t beg, Kara,” Cat says, and it is exactly what she is doing. Kara wishes it made her feel powerful, feel in control, to have her boss, have Cat Grant asking for something from her like this, but it doesn’t. It makes her feel sick. 

“I’m sorry, Ms. Grant,” she closes her eyes. Part of her wonders if it would be the kind thing to do, to lie. To create yet another persona to protect someone she cares about. But Kara isn’t that strong. She can’t go into work everyday and be indifferent to Cat, not when it’s been breaking her heart to be as distant as she already is.

“I wish I’d never hired you.” The words bite, but Cat doesn’t sound angry; she sounds frustrated and hurt.

So Kara swallows, gives herself a moment, and leans back against her headboard. She almost starts to apologize again, but Cat’s heard it from her, and she’s not _hearing_ her, so Kara decides not to repeat the words. Instead, she whispers, “I’m grateful you did.” Cat lets out a shuddering breath, and the bed squeaks again.

Cat remains silent, and for a second, Kara wonders if she’s fallen asleep. But even through the phone line Kara can hear a heavy heartbeat, and uneven breathing. “Why did you call me?”

“You’re a smart girl, Kara. Figure it out.”

“You’ve been drinking.”

Cat reaches for the glass, the ice almost gone but still enough to make a faint sound. “Obviously.”

“Do you feel guilty?” Kara regrets the question immediately; it implies too much about Cat’s feelings, even if they both know the implication is accurate.

“You were the one that ruined everything, Kara.” It’s not a no. 

Kara isn’t going to apologize, not again. Her own guilt is strong, but this conversation is getting them nowhere; she may know for certain now that Cat misses her, but they’re both smart women — just because Kara went along with the act in penance, doesn’t mean she believed that Cat stopped caring about her.

Cat sets her glass back down, and Kara feels brave again. “What do you want, Cat?”

“It was better, when you were close.” Kara can picture how tipsy Cat must be now for her to be this open. Remembers their night at the bar, helping Cat into a cab. “When you touched me.”

Kara wants to point out that the distance between them, physically and emotionally, has been Cat’s choice. But instead, she just lets out a long breath and sinks back down onto her bed, the blankets pushed down to her feet. She’s too afraid to reach for them.

She isn’t certain that Cat means what she thinks she does; touch is such an general word, and it’s not like they’ve _touched_ beyond a hand on Cat’s arm, Cat’s fingers against hers.

“I want you to touch me, Kara.” This time, her meaning is unmistakable.

Kara presses the phone harder to her ear and tries to be silent when she swallows, her mouth suddenly dry.

Face warm, she rests one hand on the skin of her belly, bared from her top rising, to ground herself. She shouldn’t be laying down; it makes her voice sound too heavy when she repeats, “You’ve been drinking, Ms. Grant.”

“I wouldn’t have been drinking if you hadn’t started looking at me that way again,” she says, and her voice sounds even but Kara can hear the fabric rustling grow louder. Her X-ray vision is _useless_ right now, with Cat across town, and it kills her. 

Part of her wants to ask what Cat means, how she’s been looking at her. But the brighter part of her knows that further discussion of whatever is between them, is off the table for the night.

“But that’s not the only way you look at me, is it?” Cat murmurs. “I think you want to touch me again, too.”

This time Kara can’t quiet the rush of air she lets out, her breathing heavy as Cat’s words settle over her. Her voice is a little broken, a little airy, and when Kara hears a zipper, she has to bite her lip.

She should stop this. Whatever Cat is starting between them is going to change things, and Kara isn’t sure it will be for the better, not when they’re stuck where they are right now. But then Cat asks, _begs_ her, “Tell me, Kara,” and this time it doesn’t make Kara feel anything other than warm.

“Tell me,” Cat repeats, and Kara can’t stop the rushed _I want to touch you_ in response. Because she does, she has for months now, and she’s too weak to deny this offered connection and affection from Cat after weeks of nothing but frost.

“Kara,” Cat moans, and _by Rao_ , Kara can hear Cat’s fingers slip beneath her panties and through her wetness. 

Cat Grant is touching herself, and wanting it to be Kara’s fingers inside of her.

Kara’s fingers dig into her stomach, and if she were human she is certain she would leave a bruise. “Tell me,” Cat says on a breath. “Tell me how you want to touch me.”

“Everywhere,” she says immediately, because she does. But Cat wants more, she can tell—this may be the first time she’s having _phone sex_ (she feels her face flame) but she’s not an idiot—Cat wants her to talk her toward an orgasm.

She feels inexperienced, naive and unprepared. But Cat is making all these breathy little sounds and Kara isn’t even there, it’s just her own hand and thoughts of Kara that have her this breathless. “I want to kiss you.”

“Mmm,” Cat hums, and Kara licks her lips, lets her fingers play with the waist of her shorts. “ _Tell me_ , Kara.”

“I want to kiss your lips, and then your jaw, and then your neck.” Cat moans in encouragement, and Kara closes her eyes—lets herself imagine her with Cat like this, more than she ever has before. She can feel Cat around her, feel what it would be like to have her weight settled on her lap, to bury her nose behind Cat’s ear and surround herself in the warm smell of Cat’s perfume.  

“Press my lips to your throat, and my,” she hesitates, face heating in embarrassment, “… _tongue_ to the hallow there.”

The description feels lewd, even as tame as it is, but then Kara catches the sound of Cat’s fingers moving inside her, the wet sounds of her fingers sliding in and out, the scrape of her panties against her skin, and _slide my hand beneath your skirt_ comes tumbling between her lips without another thought.

Cat isn’t demanding anymore, she’s fallen silent except for the sharp gasps and breathy moans, and Kara doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol that’s left her so pliant or if Cat would always be like this with her, but she wants to _know_.

“I would tug your skirt up, over your hips and pop the buttons open on your shirt. The white silk,” she adds, picturing Cat at the office earlier that day and wondering if she really is still wearing the outfit this late at night. 

But Cat’s breath catches, and Kara thinks maybe she is, that maybe if her fingers really were beneath Cat’s skirt right now that she would finder her even wetter just because this were _real_.

Cat’s fingers are moving faster and Kara can hear the shift of fabric as Cat must be moving her hips on the bed. Heat courses up Kara’s back, and she digs her toes into the blanket as she tries to keep herself from doing the same thing; she can barely keep it together to say these words, she’s almost certain she can’t do it with her own fingers on her clit.

“ _More_ , Kara,” Cat demands, and Kara has to bite her lip at the way her name sounds on a near-orgasmic Cat’s lips.

She wants to ask if Cat’s wet, if Cat’s touching herself, if Cat’s imagining her there—she thinks those are things you’re supposed to say in this situation, and hearing Cat say yes to all three might make her own resolve break. But she can’t say the words, and she knows the answers anyway.

“You look beautiful right now,” she says instead, and it’s silly and a bit of a lie because she can’t _see_ Cat like this, not really. But she knows it’s true, that Cat Grant spread out on her bed coming undone is a  _beautiful_ sight. 

“Kara,” Cat moans, but there is something softer about it, broken from stimulation but heavy with emotion like she gets why Kara said it.

Cat’s breathing is growing heavier, Kara can hear her movements lose rhythm and she knows she must be close. And she can’t stop herself this time, she slips her fingers beneath her shorts and presses her fingers to her clit through the panties as she musters the courage to say, “I want to taste you as you come, Cat,” because she _does._

Cat comes with a shaky intake of breath, almost like a sob, and Kara pulls her hand back from her clit, clenching her jaw to center herself. She listens intently as Cat settles on the other end, as she regains her breath and pulls her fingers out of her panties with a wet sound. Kara has never been more grateful or frustrated by her super-hearing.

Kara doesn’t know what to say now, isn’t sure what Cat wants from her. What she’d accept from her. She’s certain Cat will remember this, at least in part, but she doesn’t know if Cat will pretend she doesn’t back at work on Monday.

She knows she can’t.

Kara has never called on her own courage as much as tonight, but she remembers the way Cat hummed in her ear, the way she broke on Kara’s name, the way she asked for _more_. She remembers how Cat begged her to make this easier on her, how she as much as admitted how difficult it is to hate Kara. And so she asks, “What do you want?” and tries not to let it sound like _I’ll give you anything to stop hurting._

Cat is silent, and Kara has a feeling they are both too perceptive for their own good.

“I’ll see you on Monday, Kara,” and the line is silent.


End file.
